


Take advantage of the moment (you're the only one that I want)

by reygrets



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, F/M, Kastle Smut Week, Kastle Week, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reygrets/pseuds/reygrets
Summary: Seven days of Kastle smut, compliant to tumblr's kastle smut week 2018.Each day is a different prompt, each chapter is a day's worth of smut with the summary as that specific day's prompt.





	Take advantage of the moment (you're the only one that I want)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redbelles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbelles/gifts).



> masturbation monday | september 17: accidentally walking in on each other while changing/naked/ect.

There are drawbacks to loving a temporary man. Somedays Frank is more of a ghost, a scent on her sheets that’s gone by the time she blinks herself awake. He’s a memory, a fondness, a shadow that occasionally graces her halls.

 

It sucks, to put it plainly, because once upon a time she thought they’d get to have their maybe. He’s got ‘stuff’ he’s working through and most of the time Karen can understand, and some weeks all she asks is that she knows he’s alive.

 

Other times it’s … frustrating.

 

Case and point; she’s got her eyes screwed shut and her face buried in a pillow while she fumbles with the gusset of her unflattering, laundry day boyshorts.

 

It’s nothing like if Frank were here, coaxing her to one of many orgasms before he left her sweaty and spent, tangled up in her duvet. Her fingertips slip through wet folds of skin and Karen tries to envision his hands in place of hers. His are rough, broad, thick -- it takes both her forefinger and middle finger to replicate the width of one -- the memory of how he could fill her spurs her on, giving her more motivation (and fodder) to try and at least cum once.

 

_It’s not the same. It’s not the same. It’s not the same._

 

Karen’s mind chants as she moans dully, muffled by cotton pillowcases and her lips drifting shut at the tail end of it. Almost like she’s denying herself the pleasure of coming fully undone. Penance, for the sin of Frank who hangs himself a guilty noose, tighter and tighter as she slips one digit inside of herself, aided by the fresh rush of wet.

 

Even absent, even gone, he’s still driving her crazy.

 

If she focuses hard enough, she can hear the low register of his voice; half growl, mad with want, gunpowder kisses laved to her breasts and clavicle.

 

She wants that. She needs that, and it isn’t until she’s turned over, heels scrabbling for purchase against her cool bed sheets, does she realize there’s a weight to the shadow by her window. It’s open, a breeze kicks out the thin fabric of her curtains and billows aside from his frame. Him.

 

Frank.

 

At some point between when she’d undressed -- too tired to shower, she’d sagged into the mattress with the weight of the world chasing her down -- and when her hands had drifted under her sleep shorts, Frank had slipped into her apartment wordlessly.

 

He’d been spec ops, _sure_ , but she’d never really witnessed the power of what he’s capable of being used against her.

What’s there to say?

 

He’d undoubtedly heard her groaning his name like some kind of mantra like maybe she’s praying to whatever god would bring him home to her. Frank, she cried out, as a second finger joins the first but she’s staring at him, unblinking, outlined by the neon of a bar’s sign from across the street. It’s brighter when headlights pour through the window and paint Frank in stripes of dark and light, but just as quickly as they crawled across the far wall, they’re gone and he’s once more lost to the shadow. Watching. Waiting.

 

The thrill of it is just too good, her thumb rubbing frantic little circles while her shoulders press back into her pillows, trying to keep her head upright so she can watch him back.

 

Watch, when the drag of his zipper tugs on a nerve directly attached to her core. The shuffling of denim being folded down, and a sigh of satisfaction. Another car lazes by, and Karen can see where he’s taken himself in hand -- cock hard from however much he’s seen of her, legs spread now, falling apart at the knees.

 

He sucks in a breath; the trademark lip twitch and curl, his nostrils flare and his sable eyes, darken. It’s quite the sight, rendering an already lust-addled Karen fumbling for some sense of control over how her body innately reacts.

 

It makes her cunt tighten because her fingers can never replace the thickness and length he’s twisting his palm over, flanked by a full vein his thumb traces the shape of, just beneath the lip of its bruised head. Frank’s gaze isn’t on hers, he’s watching with an unbridled intensity as she fucks herself with his name on her tongue and a want for so much more behind every pump of her hand.

 

They don’t speak; they watch, they touch, they don’t even meet the other’s eyes but Karen thinks his full lips just might be muttering praise. Good girl. Breathless, it’s too much, too fucking much and what had started as a night of uneventful friction, has devolved into her thighs trembling and her back curling into a sharp arch.

 

Her orgasm hits her hard, unexpectedly, it’s hot and cold compounding in on itself but then, somehow, it’s the electricity of every touch they’ve shared, denied, every kiss they’ve had, burning a pathway up her blush mottled skin.

 

She chokes out, “Frank!” like he wasn’t playing witness to it, and when her hand tries to fall away, his is quickly covering it. She looks up at him, he shakes his head no.

 

 _No_ , she doesn’t get to stop until he says so.

 

Not that either of them is saying much of everything, so much as they are grunting and moaning.

 

He’s still fisting his cock when he’s stepped up to her (it’s impressive that he managed to get over here as quickly as he did, with his jeans sagging low and his posture decidedly ... compromised) bowed over the side of her bed but he doesn’t touch her once he’s withdrawn his hand.

 

She tries to touch _him_ , and he shakes his head no again.

 

His throat’s bobbing when he swallows, the vein in his jaw pulsing as he clenches it over his unwillingness to visibly fall apart.

 

He’s stubborn, and strong, dead set on seeing her through another orgasm; Frank stops on the edge of a very high cliff, unwilling to fall over it because Karen’s hands had gone idle.

 

“Touch. Yourself.” He grits out unceremoniously, a bullish, heavy sound where he’s huffing and puffing, cock head leaking onto her bed. He refuses to give in, to bend or bow or break.

 

Karen whines -- and she really, _really_ hates that he makes that sound crawl out from her desert-dry throat -- and guides her hand back down to her hypersensitive labia and clit. They’re swollen and pink and stimulated by her lazy touches before, but now they burn as the waves of her last climax continue to pulse through the perimeter nerves.

 

She’s not usually one to commands, least of all from him, but the situation has tailor-made her sex to pulse in time with how he strokes his dick. It’s inelegant, the wet slip-slide of her finger through her cunt, it’s loud in a way she didn’t think it could be, usually quieted by two bodies moving and shifting, breathing and beating but this is different.

 

It’s erotic.

 

There’s a very real possibility that she cums just like this, carding her fingers along the delicate skin before, once more, she presses two of them inside. She immediately clamps down over the (admittedly welcome) intrusion, a hiss between her teeth, sharp eyes on his now, and he’s meeting her there.

 

He shifts to rest one knee against the mattress, and it dips by her waist; so that when Frank inevitably reaches an end of his own, it’ll spill hot, over her chest. She’d never, ever, under any other circumstance find that as attractive as she does now. Dirty, messy -- a little demeaning -- but fuck if it’s not the hottest prospect she’d ever faced.

 

Karen’s orgasm builds, steadily this time, a low simmer that builds to a boil. It’s a tight knot just beneath her navel and it strings out, uncurls, and tangles itself all in the span of a single heartbeat. Her limbs shake, the muscles that line her calves run taught, splintering the moment she reaches her peak, and this time Karen doesn’t withhold the sound she makes. Or rather, screams.

 

She _really_ hopes no one calls the cops. This’ll be a hard one to explain.

 

Her unblinking stare, while she came, is the final push Frank needed before he’s spilling into his hand, hot, thick ropes of cum slip between his fingers and patter onto the flushed pink of Karen’s stomach.

 

Karen’s eyes drift shut, she hasn’t even moved to clean herself when the sound of the shower turning on drifts through her apartment, the hiss of pipes reluctantly warming up.

 

Frank finally speaks, peering from around the bathroom’s doorway,

 

“You coming?”

 

Karen resists the hilarious urge to say: _already did._

**Author's Note:**

> [find me on tumblr](http://www.jewishkarenpage.tumblr.com)


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